Fen'Harel
by DukeVenomania
Summary: Leto is a boy stolen into slavery. He has one friend, though he does not know if it will last...


Being a slave to a magister was not all that bad to the elven boy. It was definitely not the best, but it provided food. They boy had been taken along with his family. His sister and mother had been forced into slavery alongside the child, the magister loving the 'beautiful elven children' and for once being kind, not wanting the children to be without an authoritative figure. The elven boy was the only slave the Magister needed, though he kept the others only to appease the boy.

The boy's eyes were green and large; when docile, his eyes could be described as those of a puppy's and when angered, they could described as the eyes of a wolf. His hair was silver, a mistake from birth; 'Leto' he was named, a name his Master wished sincerely to change.

It had been years since the boy's capture. Leto had become a fine teenager, obedient to anything his master ordered; if a small threat was issued. His toy.

Leto sighed, the collar on his neck and the chain that strung from it signified he was _indeed_ a slave, despite his current duties. He had been cleaning the manor for the day, the maid away on 'health reasons'; though Leto could have sworn his master had taken her to the 'experiments'. If one went, they would never return. His master must have considered him daft, to believe that the slave thought his lie was real.

In his years of service to the magister, the elf had made a friend; Theo, one of the servant boys, had taught the silver-haired boy the 'tricks of the trade' so to speak, having taught him the benefits and disadvantages of sensuality. Theo was a human boy with deep brown hair, cerulean eyes that resembled ice, piercing through anyone with only a glance. The brunette never spoke of his family or his past, only saying his family didn't have a particular liking to him.

The elven slave gave an aggravated grunt as the fireplace's ashes splattered upon his hands and face. "Fucking thing." He cursed, sneezing, his nose almost agreeing with the elf's discontent. Quiet laughter exhoed through the front room, the elven boy turning and standing immediately, his gaze set to the floor.

The newcomer laughed again, "I don't think I've ever seen you move that fast, Leto." His friend chuckled, tugging on the chain that bound the silver haired boy.

Leto looked up, raising a brow and crossing his arms, a pointed glare aimed at his friend. "Theo! You know not to scare me like that!" The slave visibly relaxed, looking at his friend, who simply stood with a proud smirk.  
>"Come on! You know it was fun!" The brunette smirked, seeming to pout when his friend's expression hadn't changed. Theo's arms crossed against his chest, his lanky frame leaning against the wall.<br>"That is not fun! That is abusing power!" Leto huffed, yelping as his friend pulled the chain, causing the teenager to stumble into his friend, who promptly held the elf, stroking his hair, as if he were his pet. The elven boy struggled, a slight smaller than his friend, which seemed to impede his fleeing skills. Leto stood still after he realized his friend would not let go.  
>"Stop struggling! There are ashes in your hair!" Theo mumbled, wiping the ashes out of the elf's silver locks.<br>"_Dolle daa lost_!" Leto exclaimed, "_Amin feuya ten'lle! Merath en fengrim!" _ he hissed, still unable to  
>[Your head is empty!] [I hate you! Feast of wolves!<br>escape.  
>Theo let out a laugh, "<em>Melamin! Mela en' coramin—"<em> he was cut off by his friend's escape, the elf  
>[My love! Love of my life-]<br>ruffling his friend's hair before fleeing to the courtyard. The brunette followed, their laughter echoing throughout the manor yard. The slave's robes prevented any easy running, though the slave managed to run at his full speed. The servant boy followed, leaping on him, in somewhat of a sports tackle.  
>The elven boy yelped and fell, his arms catching them both. "Damn you and your sports experience." He mumbled, his friend laughing joyously. Theo let go of the slave boy, and almost immediately Leto fled once more, exclaiming things of revenge, running into the main room again. The servant boy followed, his friend taunting him and the brunette getting clearly aggravated; with a simple pull on the chain that trailed behind his comrade, the elf fell back. Leto was pulled back harshly, his legs disagreeing with his torso's change of direction; he stumbled back, his friend missing the chance for a catch, Leto falling back into a statue of Dumat. The Old God of silence seemed to waver on the edge of the table he rested before the statue fell, shattering into pieces on the Antivan rug.<br>Theo and Leto froze.  
>Leto stood, Theo looking on the verge of tears. Leto winced as the footsteps of his Master resounded through the halls, something he grew to fear, especially at times such as this.<p>

"What do we have here, hm?" It was Danarius, a magister adorned with splendid red robes and contrasting swirls of yellow. His voice mocked curiosity, playing to the slave's fears. Leto's gaze fell down, giving his Master the element of surprise. The Magister examined the damage, rage filling his eyes as he spotted the revered God of Silence that now lay in shattered pieces. The Magister tugged harshly on the chain, the elven slave jolted forward, though his gaze did not waver from the rug.  
>"Was this your doing, Leto?" the Magister questioned, the elf shifting uncomfortably, the collar seeming to tighten, though he remained silent. "Or was it yours, Theo?" The Magister glared, turning his attention to the human boy at the slave's side; the servant's gaze focused to the floor as well, staying as silent as his friend.<p>

Leto paused, "It was me, Master." Almost as quick as the sentence left his lips, his cheek was struck with a force that could shatter bone.  
>"How dare you dishonour Dumat!" The Magister shouted, landing another strike, "Clean it up, pick another up from the market, and <em>pray<em> to Dumat, _Pray _ you are not in His bad graces." He hissed, "Your punishment will come later, _slave._" The Magister hissed, his slave nodding and bowing respectfully before beginning to clean the shattered remains of Dumat.  
>Danarius' attention turned to Theo, "Go with him. " He seethed, the boy nodding, saying nothing as to provoke his master's anger, the Magister leaving, mumbling things about his 'little wolf' being too much.<p>

"I'm sorry..I didn't know.." Theo began, watching his friend, offering to help.  
>"<em>Kela.<em>" Leto mumbled, cleaning in otherwise silence, feeling his friend's eyes looking him over;  
>[Leave.]<br>the brunette remaining quiet, his friend's anger known to be explosive.  
>As Leto finished, the slave stood, throwing the shards away and deciding to clean his cut hands. Theo followed his friend until they left, taking the chain that hung, seeming proud, he had power over the elf, though he would never admit he took pride in it. The matter of owning a slave was something that would invoke pride in any good Imperial citizen; being taken as a slave was definite different matter. The streets were a busy place, one that sickened the elven slave.<p>

"This is where you were bought, right?" Theo asked, eyeing all the elven slaves that had been up for sale simply in the streets, many had become whores, other stood by their master, looking as seductive as they were told.  
>"I do not want to talk about it." Leto mumbled, knowing his friend's tactic of getting his anger focused on someone or something else.<br>"C'mon, Leto!" The brunette exclaimed, causing Imperial citizens to look and stare upon them.  
>"Do not call me that here." The elf hissed, "Get the statue so we can leave." The order came swift, something Theo had never heard his friend do.<br>"Do not order me, slave!" Theo tugged on the chain, causing it to tighten, something Leto had not expected, his limbs betraying him and falling. Leto glanced up at his friend, longing to see his peaceful, lilac eyes, though what he saw was something different; eyes of violet, ones filled with borderline rage took their place, sympathy or empathy was nowhere to be found, and he debated strongly if his friend was simply acting, or if he had took it upon himself to be a substitute Magister.


End file.
